


Run Out the Clock

by Catchclaw



Series: Mental Mimosa [181]
Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Office, Crushes, F/M, First Kiss, Making Out, Seven Minutes In Heaven
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-08-10 01:12:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16460618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catchclaw/pseuds/Catchclaw
Summary: The door closes with a firm, quiet click.“So,” Rey says.“So,” Ben says. “It’s, ah--I didn’t think it’d be quite so dark.”





	Run Out the Clock

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Seven minutes in heaven. Prompt from this [generator](http://colormayfade.tumblr.com/generator).

The door closes with a firm, quiet click.

“So,” Rey says.

“So,” Ben says. “It’s, ah--I didn’t think it’d be quite so dark.”

There are hangers biting into his back and the space is full of the smell of old wool. Before the door closed, he’d had a glimpse of winter coats wrapped in plastic, of snow boots and shoes boxes jammed against the baseboards, and now he and Rey are jammed in here, too, thanks to Poe’s overly strong margaritas and a general sense of hilarity about high school days that Ben does not fucking share but what was he supposed to do, exactly? Say no? Make a federal case out of something so inconsequential and juvenile that he’d end up looking like a jackass, like the stick in the mud that he was very aware was his general reputation around the office? Ah, yeah. No.

He’s been with the firm for six months and this is the first time anyone’s invited him anywhere. Oh, there have been a few semi-mandatory happy hours and a workplace birthday cake or two, but this is the first real party he’s been asked to, the first outside of work social function, and it’s just his fucking luck, isn’t it, that drinks and a movie at Finn’s place has drunkenly devolved into, of all things, Seven Minutes in Heaven.

He’s in Heaven with Rey, no less. His sort-of semi rival. The only person in the whole fucking firm whose work he respects. And now he’s standing in a coat closet with her while their co-workers--her friends--wait with baited breath and eyes on the clock. Doesn’t help that they won’t stop laughing. Even the closed door can’t keep that sound out.

“God, Solo,” Rey says, amusement in her voice, salt. “Relax.”

“I am relaxed,” he snaps, all starch.

Her hand on his arm, strong and soothing. “Yeah, sure. You seem completely at ease.” She chuckles. “You know we don’t actually have to do anything, right? We can just stand here and run out the clock.”

“No, yeah, of course.” A bravado he doesn’t feel; doesn’t fucking buy, either. “I figured. I mean, I figured that’s what you’d want to do.”

“What, wait it out?”

It’s easier to talk in the dark. Even she is so freaking close. “Well, yeah. I mean, let’s face it: you’d rather be in here with anybody but me, right? That’s why everybody thinks this is so fucking funny, us being in here. Me with you.”

“I don’t know about that.”

“Rey, come on.” He shifts, or tries to. Ends up getting his feet tangled in a set of snow boots askew on the floor. “You don’t have to do that right now.”

“Do what?”

“Ah, you know. Be nice.”

Her fingers fall from his arm. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you do.” There’s vinegar in his voice now, heat at the back of his neck. “I know this is sort of a work thing, Rey, but we’re not at work and nobody’s watching so you don’t have to pretend to tolerate me. It’s just you and me here, so there’s no need to be nice.”

“You think I’m nice to you because other people are watching?” she says, flat.

“Basically. Yeah. That’s kind of your brand, isn’t it? Kindly competency?”

She’s angry now. He can feel it. “Are you’re a condescending dick, Solo. Isn’t that your damn brand?”

“No argument here.”

“Do you know why I bother speaking to you? Why I’ve made such an effort to talk to you, to include you in things?”

“Uh, I think I just explained why--”

Rey cuts him off hard. “Because you’re talented, asshole. You’ve brought the project farther in six months than we’d managed to tug it in a year.”

He laughs. “Damn right.”

“And the only thing I can figure is that your ego takes up so much room in your brain that it’s jettisoned your social skills like so much fucking dead weight so god help me if I’ve tried to remind you every now and then what it’s like to be human, what the basic expectations for human interaction actually are.”

“See? See? This has all been a mission for you, hasn’t it? You’re trying to save me from myself. Aw, Rey. Look at you. That’s so _kind_.”

She makes a furious noise. “Fuck you, Solo.”

Oh, but he’s on a roll now. “That’s the only reason you volunteered to come in here with me, isn’t it? Why you agreed to take Rose’s place when she freaked out?”

“She freaked _out_ because she has a crush on Finn, you idiot,” Rey spits, “and she's saving herself for him and she knew that I--”

“That you what? That you’d be willing to save her from seven minutes of awkward with the rude egomaniac?”

Two hands on his shoulders, a shove, and she’s right in his face. “She knew that I had a crush on you. Key word in that sentence being _had_.”

“You what?”

“Ugh,” she says, her hands turning claw. “You heard me.”

The air between them, such as it is, pulls dusty and tight. There’s no room to breathe in here, is there, especially when Rey’s so fucking close. How come he didn’t grok it until now, how small this space is? How easy it would be to lift his arms, to reach out and touch?

It’s ratty, the shirt she has on. It was probably Poe’s. They were a thing for a while last year, he’d heard--office romance, and all that--but now, they’re long done and over, back to just friends again, except every now and then she’ll show up to work (or now he knows, to a party) in something that looks more like him than her and it’ll get him to wonder if they’ve slipped back into old habits, back into each other’s bed.

Not that he’s thought about it, what they might look like together, she and Poe. When his mind wanders in class or when he’s driving or when he has a hand down his shorts chasing relief, chasing sleep.

...it’s been a while since he has, anyway.

And yeah, it makes him feel guilty, because nobody’s love life is his business, but it’s more than just professional respect that he has for Rey: she’s the only one in the whole firm who intimidates him, and in the best way.

She’s thoughtful in meetings, in her work, and yet quick on her feet; she isn’t afraid to ask questions, to make it clear that there’s something she doesn’t understand, but she’s not afraid to call bullshit, either, on their coworkers, on their boss, on him. She can be a dick in meetings sometimes--they’ve crossed swords more than once--but when the discussion’s done and the plan’s laid out, she can laugh or shrug and let it all go. Rey scares him a little bit, is the thing, despite the shambling artist-farmer vibe she gives off even when she's wearing a suit, and truth be told, that turns him on way more than it should.

It’s not just that she’s nice to him that freaks him out. It’s that he wants to be nice to her, too.

And now they’re stuck in a closet together for at least three more minutes and buzz or no buzz, she’s real close and she’s touching him and jesus, no wonder there’s no blood left in his head.

“Yeah, I heard you,” he gets out, cotton through dry fucking fields. “I just have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I had a crush on you. Surely that's not a difficult concept."

“But you’ve gotten over that, huh?”

She curls in against him, presses him deeper into down and wool. “So hard,” she murmurs, the words warm over his chin. “And so fast.”

He isn’t sure what to think. He doesn’t want to. What he wants to do is reach out and--

Instead, he stands there still and says: “This time was good for something then, huh?”

She makes a frustrated sound, a low sort of huff, and all at once they’re flush he can’t help but touch, palms curving over her hips, and her head is tipped up and his is shoved down and he’s blushing to tips of his teeth because she’s kissing him, oh god, her tongue all strawberries and ice, insistent, not letting him back down or out; and he’s clutching her hair, drowning, pulling at her rough ponytail, feeling it break out of its band and fall free, and she arches against him, leans back into the tug of his hand with a low, satisfied gasp.

“Ben,” she says, in this soft, hot sort of growl, a sound that turns his knees to molten jelly. “Mmmm, Ben, don’t stop."

He tugs her hair again and she moans, rubs her breasts against his chest and slips a hand under his hem, strokes at the turn of his ribs, scratches, and he’s halfway to hard already, his skin hot where she touches him, the rest aching for her, his stupid breath shallow and quick.

Rey snatches at his wrist and tugs his fingers up and under and then he’s petting her breast, tugging eagerly at lace until he’s holding the weight of her, rolling his thumb over the rose petal blush of her nipple. She whimpers into the kiss and clutches at his belt and murmurs _please again more_ until he pinches the petal gently and drinks up her groans.

They’re pawing at each other, heedless and loud. She’s rocking against his thigh, rubbing herself against him, and his cock is starting to twitch, hungry for her mouth or her hand and, fuck, it’s like being in high school, or what he’d always imagined high school would be: trading liquored kisses with a pretty girl at a party who’s getting off on it as hard as he.

“Fuck,” she whispers over his lips, her voice lovely ragged and torn. “God, that feels so good.”

He pinches her again, not as gentle, smirking when her hips kick. “Yeah?”

Her fingers fly to his hair and she mashes their mouths back together, feeds him a long, hot shove of her tongue, and this time, he’s the one groaning, the one grinding, and the sly smirk is all hers.

Dimly, he’s aware that time is waning, that surely somebody’s gonna come looking, that they should probably pull the brakes now and stop. But there’s something out of time about being crammed in here with Rey, shut out from the rest of the world, and once that door opens, the spell’s gonna be broken, won’t it? So better to cling to her now, to tug up her shirt and lower his head and lick at her tits, drink in the soft sweet honey smell of her skin; to revel in the squeeze of her hand at his hip, its pointed sideways slip, the curl of her fingers over the swell of his dick.


End file.
